


When Two Worlds Collide

by flash0flight



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, buckynat - Freeform, buckynat minibang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:58:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flash0flight/pseuds/flash0flight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha's always been content with the life she lives, earning more than her keep by selling other people's secrets - and killing along the way, if the client paid enough. What she wasn't counting on was the disarming, genuine charm of James Barnes, and the job doesn't go exactly how she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Two Worlds Collide

**Author's Note:**

> [Accompanying photoset! ](http://beefy-seb.tumblr.com/post/142410946328/httparchiveofourownorgworks6485521%0A)

_Beep— Beep— Beep—_

Natasha can’t help but groan as she rolls over, blinking the sleep out of her eyes as she squints at the alert on her phone. It’s— Jesus Christ, 4:13am, _what the fuck_ — whoever the hell is trying to get in touch with her now is obviously kidding themselves, _really_ —

And of course, it’s a goddamn _job_ , Isaiah really losing his touch if he thinks he can get her out of bed this early for a hit that’s probably not even worth twenty, maybe thirty grand, the idiot should _know_ better by now. Though, Natasha’s always been a firm believer that having an agent for assassination contracts is _ridiculous_ —

Tapping on the screen a few times, Natasha pushes up to lean on her elbow, trying a touch harder to concentrate on the description as it comes up, expecting it to be another corrupt businessman or blackmailing con-artist selling big guns to all the wrong people, the usual crap, except— shit, it’s _not_. Not even close, actually.

Rubbing the last of sleep out of her eyes, Natasha sits up a little straighter, wondering if she’s still dreaming as she stares at this goddamn overview because there is no _way_ something this easy is paying well into six figures, and well over _anything_ she’s ever picked up before.

**Target:** _Barnes, J.B. CEO of a multibillion dollar weapons and technology developer for the military, recently inherited from his deceased father._

Well, that explains why he’s such a high profile target. Recently crowned CEOs are _always_ so easy to poke information out of, with the right persuasion, and especially when they’re this _young_. Natasha’s no stranger to that; it’s not the first time she’s done this. It’s just a shame her last target of this stature was allowed to live.

**Task:** _Infiltrate Barnes’ life by any means necessary and gain access to sensitive information dealt with by his company; report back to source every two weeks for a span of three months. Eliminate target at the end of the three month period._

At least her new employers are a little more logical. Natasha doesn’t know what it is, but there’s just _something_ about these smarmy CEO types that makes her want to put a bullet in their head before they can even come near her— but of course, if she wants her very large sum of money, she’ll be careful not to do just that.

With a small, regretful sigh, Natasha pushes herself out of bed, already combing her fingers through her hair and looking over the details of the job again, making sure she doesn’t miss anything. CEOs aren’t always easy to get to in the first place, especially not ones like this, and she’s going to need to get a head start if she wants to make this mark any time soon.

—

“You realise I will be happily retiring after this job, Isaiah.”

“Very funny. Sit down will you, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover—“

Rolling her eyes, Natasha settles down in the seat opposite her usually hopeless agent— okay, that’s not really fair, he’s not _that_ bad. Much better than the last guy who seemed to find it hard to believe that a female killer was as talented or efficient as a man. He hadn’t lasted very long.

They still haven’t quite found all the pieces, and Natasha can’t say she  remembers has any idea where they might be.

Isaiah’s pretty good though, apart from a few badly timed alerts that woke her up much earlier than the amounts the jobs were paying were worth, or the occasional lecture about how she should focus more on the money and less on what the job means - which is probably because the guy’s angling for a bigger cut, but _she’s_ the one out there in freezing cold Siberia waiting eight hours to take a shot. He can deal with it.

“Please, it’s another playboy CEO, what more could there be that I don’t already know?”

“This one’s different, Natasha. He’s not running around drinking and picking up a new girl every night, he’s not—“

“Isaiah, _relax._ A job that’s paying this much, I’ll be whatever I have to be.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

“Well, everyone knows you worry too much.”

Not for the first time this morning, Isaiah rolls his eyes and Natasha blatantly ignores it, going over the job description again. It’s simple enough really— seduce the rich guy, get close to him, get into his home, find out some vital information about his company’s future plans and possibilities, pass the information along to the buyer who just so happens to be Barnes’ rival, and take care of him in a way that looks like an accident, of course.

Simple.

“Be careful with this one, Natasha. He’s not like the others—“

“Oh yeah? What, he’s actually a human being?”

Isaiah’s eyes disappear into his head yet again, and Natasha has to remind herself to bite her tongue before she snaps at him about how his eyes will soon get stuck like that if he’s not careful, but unfortunately he _does_ sort of take care of her, and he does what he can to get her good jobs. It helps that she has some kind of reputation by now, but that can all go to hell with the wrong agent.

“Just be careful with this one. He might not be as willing to share his company secrets as some of the others have been.”

Huffing under he breath, Natasha pushes herself up out of the chair and waves in his general direction, making her way towards the door.

“For how much these guys are offering, I’ll be just about anything to worm my way into his life. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’m sure you will, Romanoff.”

Isaiah sounds al title doubtful. Natasha can’t find it in herself to care. It’s a job, she can handle it.

—

Natasha’s always felt more at home on rooftops. There’s a certain detachment from everything else up here, from the hectic city below her, from the people she’d rather not bother expending too much energy on, from the targets she needs to get close to.

That’s a particularly important one, especially with a job like this one.

Shaking her head, Natasha peers through the scope on her rifle, watching the high-rise office yet again, just like she has been for the better part of the afternoon. It’s important for her to pick up little bits and pieces about her target, to learn as much as she can about them before they even get a chance to meet her. It gives her an edge, something to build her cover on rather than just smiling and flirting a lot. Even with the sleezebags, it just makes things run so much smoother if they think you have something in common.

Lucky for Tasha, she can pretend to like just about anything she wants, for the right price.

And Barnes looks easy, really— from what she can see through her scope, there’s a couple of photographs on his desk, but none of them are of his father. He spends much more time pacing around the desk than he does sitting at it, which he’s only really done when he’s had meetings - for the impression it gives, she’s sure. He’s had at least three cups of coffee in the past four hours alone, and he doesn’t look like he’s slowing down any time soon. And last but not least, he very obviously wishes he could be just about anywhere but in that office.

Piece of cake, really. There’s so many approaches she can take just to appeal to the clear disdain for the very company his father built. It's like an open door, really - he might as well just let her walk in and take whatever she needs.

—

“Oh _shit_ , I’m so sorry—“

Natasha dives with just the right timing to miss the briefcase as it falls from Barnes’ hand, pasting an alarmed expression on her face as it bursts open, papers falling out all over the pavement. And Barnes seems just as shocked as she is, dropping to his knees and swiping for the papers before they can blow away. As if on cue, Natasha joins him, keeping her expression carefully arranged to make her seem guilty as hell. And she waits for it, taking a moment to sweep the papers into a neat pile, and any second now—

“Don’t apologise, I should have been paying more attention to where I was going—“

Because _that’s_ such a surprise. A week of observation and research has shown her that this is the guy’s strategy, playing some humble sort of guilt-card that somehow manages to work because the company just seems to be thriving under his control.

Shaking her head, Natasha plays up the guilt-ridden act, offering the pile of papers to Barnes.

“I was in a hurry, I shouldn’t have rushed past like that—“

“No, it’s—“

Their eyes meet, and everything freezes, the moment playing out like it has before for Natasha— boy meets girl by accident, boy falls in love with girl at first sight, girl pretends to fall in love with boy at first sight while silently considering how to steal all his secrets.

Except in this moment - Natasha’s not thinking about what to do, how to sneak into his life, the best approach to take to trick him out of his secrets. She’s not thinking about processes or methods or just how to smile or what sort of voice to talk in next.

For the briefest second, Natasha’s just - lost in his eyes, in the incredibly beautiful depth in those eyes, so young and so _innocent,_ something she hasn’t seen in such a long time.

“It was my fault, really— are you okay?”

He sounds so genuine that it catches Natasha by complete surprise, and she can’t help but pause for a moment, trying to find the deception in his voice, in the gentle smile on his face, the way he’s watching her so intently, but it’s just— not _there_.

He’s better at this than Natasha thought.

“I’m okay— I’m fine, thank you.”

Barnes almost looks relieved when she says so, tucking the papers under his arm and holding his hand out for her.

“James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky, if you - It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Natasha smiles, careful and a little shy, calculated as she slips back into her job and ignores the nagging feeling in the back of her mind telling her to let her guard down just a little.

“And you, Mr. Barnes. Careful with those files, yeah?”

Natasha pushes past him with a careful flick of her hair and continues along the path, making sure not to turn back - she doesn’t need to, she’s sure he’s watching.

—

Sometimes, it’s just as important to know all the high-class debutant nonsense as it is to know how to take someone down quickly and quietly. So when Natasha slips into this particular function with a very carefully collected invitation, a very small-calibre, carefully chosen gun strapped to her thigh under the deep green dress she’s chosen for the evening, it’s easy enough to blend in.

Charity events seem to be a favourite for these people, a chance for them to show everyone else _just_ how much they care about the less fortunate. The money they donate is often pocket change for them, a drop in the ocean of their fortunes but enough to look like a “sizeable donation” while they show off to women who could be their mistresses, right in front of the noses of their wives.

Ridiculous.

Natasha expects Barnes to be right in the centre of it all, lapping all the attention for his charity, soaking in it with fake modesty just like all the others would be. Which is why it surprises her so much to see him laying low near the bar a couple of hours into the night, after his speech, after the big presentation about the Winifred Barnes Foundation, when everyone is really starting to put a dent into the booze in this place.

Extracting himself from the wandering hands of one particularly disgusting man - Pierce, if she recalls correctly, might be useful to remember later on - Natasha makes her way back towards the bar, dropping her half-empty glass on a table as she goes and turning up empty handed a few feet away from Barnes, waiting for the bartender to get around to her.

“Excuse me, over here -“

His voice rings out above the noise, getting the bartender’s attention and earning him a nod as the man makes his way over.

“Another one of these, and for the lady -“

“Vodka Martini, thanks.”

“Saw you come in, y’know.”

Natasha chuckles, soft and careful, letting her hair fall over her shoulder, a false wall between the two of them before she looks over to meet his eye.

“I’m not sure I should be insulted you didn’t say anything, or flattered you noticed.”

“Thought I’d give you some breathing room, considering I don’t even know your name.”

The bartender sets a glass down in front of her, and Natasha takes a sip immediately. All expenses paid nights are always nice, why should she not make the most of it?

“Natalie.”

He doesn’t say anything, he nods, gives her a small, half-hearted smile and takes a gulp from his fresh glass, clearly not wasting any time.

“My advisors think these sorts of things are good - public opinion, y’know?”

God, he sounds so _young_ , Natasha can’t help but hear it in his voice, in the way he closes off a bit, and it hits her in that moment that this event - this hits a little more close to home than it would for anyone else like this.

“My dad used to throw them all the time. Said it made it seem like it meant something, when she -“

He pauses, his voice choking for a moment, and Natasha watches him swallow before he continues.

“Guess m’just not used to that yet. Using my mom like that.”

He doesn’t wanna be here. Natasha can see it - it’s as clear as day, and it’s _strange_. This is all personal to him, hits so close to him and he wants to run as far away from the pain as possible, she can see it on his face.

“Sorry - god, I barely even know you, what am I -“

Letting out a small chuckle, Natasha steps over, closing some of the distance between them and taking her glass with her, taking another sip before answering him.

“Easier with strangers sometimes, to be honest.”

Nudging him with her elbow, Natasha grins and finishes off her drink with ease, letting the relief wash over him and letting it sink in.

“No one’s watching - let’s get out of here, James.”

“You remembered my name?”

Natasha just smiles, waiting for an answer, watching the wheels turn in his mind. This is his event - his responsibility, sure, but there’s enough of his people around to do the rest of the schmoozing. she can see him weighing up the pros and cons, whether it’s worth disappearing with someone he doesn’t even know, before he polishes off his scotch and reaches for her hand, hesitating before touching her.

“Let’s go get a pizza, have a beer.”

“Thank god, I’m _starving_.”

—

Pizza and a beer is a little more than something cheap and easy - they go to James’ favourite Italian restaurant, get the privilege of a private room and have the best beer they have in their collection along with their finest, handmade pizza. Some things are typical apparently, of these billionaire kids.

The conversation, though - James doesn’t show off, he doesn’t brag about his vast fortune or his huge company, he talks about his family, they laugh and joke about his childhood, how normal yet _bizarre_ it was to anyone who didn’t grow up that way. They chat about trivial things - movies, food, music they hate, random crap they see online, their craziest New York experiences.

He’s either - fantastic and lying, or he’s _normal_ , a standard sort of guy in a tough situation, suddenly roped in with a giant company he’s not really sure what to do with, not really sure if it’s what he even wants but he’s doing his best anyway.

Maybe he just… needed an escape, needed to pretend for one night.

Whatever it is, Natasha reminds himself at the end of the night when he leaves her with a kiss on her hand and a card with his private number scrawled over his business contact details, at least it’s let her get in.

—

“You look like you slept here.”

Leaning against the doorframe with two coffees and a bag with lunch in her hand, Natasha grins over at the poor guy perched behind the desk. It’s been a couple of weeks since the charity event, and they’ve been to dinner quite a few times - James has tried to keep her away from his big functions and events, wanting to keep her out of the spotlight of cameras and paparazzi he lives with every day and she appreciates it.Isaiah would kill her if her face ended up in the papers for this job.

They’d come here two nights ago, and - he didn’t leave her alone, so she didn’t get a shot at the files, but the view from his office is _beautiful_ , and he’d wanted to share it with her.

And now she knows where things are, if she needs to resort to sneaking in.

“Would it sound crazy if I said I did?”

Chuckling, Natasha steps into the office and over to James’ desk. It’s just after 2pm and, from what his assistant said, he’s barely stopped all day let alone considered lunch.

Maybe if she can distract him, she can get some time to dig around. It makes sense, right?

She keeps telling herself that - maybe she’ll believe it.

“Well, it’s break time - coffee and Thai food, up you get.”

“No, c’mon - I got so much to do, there’s no way -“

“Hey, I came _all this way,_ trekked across the city with your _favourite_ -“

James laughs, worn down and exhausted but somehow still warm, and it’s become something familiar over the past few weeks.

_Familiar is dangerous, Natasha -_

“Okay, okay, half an hour, and I promise we’re still on for dinner.”

Without another word Natasha makes her way over to the couch and fishes the takeout boxes out of the bag, setting up for lunch and shooing away the awful nagging feeling in the back of her head that she’s getting lost in her own lie.

—

“You haven’t reported anything in yet.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha slips on a pair of earrings carefully, careful not to get them caught in her hair and making sure not to meet Isaiah’s eyes.

“Because I haven’t found anything yet. I don’t appreciate that tone, thank you.”

“You deserve it, Natasha. What’s this bullshit, you haven’t found anything yet? _You?_ ”

Natasha spins around and sets a hand on her hip, and by the way Isaiah shrinks back a bit the expression on her face is exactly what it needs to be.

“I’ve been spending my time getting in close enough to have _any kind of chance_ at this. You don’t know what his security is like, how to get into his apartment without getting caught, the systems in his office are ridiculous. I’m _working on it_.”

Isaiah doesn’t say anything for a second, taking everything in and watching as Natasha glowers at him, but she can see it in his eyes. They’ve worked together for long enough now that she can tell when he doesn’t believe her.

“So what’s this, then - all this you’re wearing, recon?”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get into his place, be able to sneak some files out from there.”

“Sure.”

“Isaiah -“

He raises a hand and turns towards the door. This is - one thing they have, one thing Natasha hates using more than she should. She’s just glad he trusts her enough to give her this space, to let her do things her way, even if it can be ill-advised.

“Send me what you find, I’ll start putting a file together for the client.”

“Don’t send it until I have everything they need.”

Nodding, he waves at her as he heads out, and Natasha lets out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding. She knows what she needs to do, she knows how to get under James’s skin the way she needs to - she knows why. It’s just a job, it doesn’t mean anything.

If she says that enough, if she keeps telling herself that - maybe she won’t feel so damn awful for what she’s doing to him.

—

“So - uh - my place, it’s -“

The car is extravagant, sure, but - Natasha’s sure it’s all part of the image, chosen to impress her, and yet James still seems nervous.

“I’m sure it’s lovely, relax -“

Even his laugh is tight, anxious and barely a laugh at all, and he’s fidgeting, wringing his hands together and Natasha can’t help but reach out to cover them with one of her own, try to steady him, give him something to anchor himself.

All carefully calculated, of course. He needs to believe she’s there for him, if he’s going to let her into his home.

“Whatever it is - I’m not there for it, okay? We’re only going if _you_ want me to see it.”

The smile comes easier to him this time, Natasha’s learned the difference between the false ones and the real ones. Research, know your enemy, of course.

Nothing to do with the way he smiles more for her than he does for others, or the fact that she’s come to hold onto the way he looks at her, like she’s precious, despite all the amazing things he has in his life, the fact that he can have just about anything money can buy.

No one’s… ever looked at her like that.

“I do - I do want you to see it. It’s my home - even if I spend a freakish amount of time at work.”

“Then I’m sure I’ll love it, okay?”

James nods, his hands finally settling down and Natasha can’t hep but smile, leaning over to press a kiss against his cheek, just to bring his nerves to a real close.

It’ll be worth it. It has to be.

—

The view is the first thing Natasha notices. It’s gorgeous through the window that spans from the roof to the floor, and she can’t quite believe it, the way it’s set up. It’s spacious but cosy, comfortable and homey but still so stylish. It’s so typically a - rich person’s house, but it feels like a _home_.

Not what Natasha expected, not at all, and - if she had more time to think about it it would worry her that she feels that way and isn’t counting the exits or memorising the layout of the place.

All she can bring self to do, though, is step over and press her palms up against the glass and stare out across the city that’s, somehow, become her home. It’s _beautiful_ , amazing to see and she just can’t get enough of it.

“You like the view?”

Natasha chuckles and looks back at James over her shoulder - he’s hovering not too far away, pacing about with his hands in his pockets, obviously still nervous.

“Like is an understatement, darling - come here, stop hovering -“

James steps into her reach and lets her loop her arm through his so they can stand together. The view is probably just - standard, now, something he sees all the time, but - he doesn’t seem to mind, staying here while she gazes out across the city.

“It’s gorgeous, you know. Your place, not just the view,” Natasha tells him quietly, glancing over to see him smiling, his shoulders starting to relax. It’s nice to see - nice to see him letting his guard down, it’ll give her an opportunity to look around -

And it’s - it’s a relief, to see him get a chance to be himself. Out in public, James always has to hold a certain image, always needs to be mindful of the photographers and public image. Now, though - all the barriers are down, and she can see - him.

Somehow, it’s even more endearing than anything else he could’ve done.

“You’ll - stay? For the night? Just to stay, not to -“

Natasha, against her better judgement, against Isaiah’s voice in her head telling her to _be careful_ , steps closer to him and leans her head against his shoulder, careful not to leave too much space between them. There’s something so familiar, so comfortable and _safe_ about this, she’s not sure what it is but it’s - it’s easy.

And nothing’s easy for her, but she’s so close -

“I think I could do that, on the condition that you keep an eye on those hands of yours.”

“What, too much wandering?”

Natasha smiles and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, murmuring in his ear; “Not enough, actually.”

—

James is asleep, peaceful and settled in his bed as Natasha slips out into the hallway, ignoring the twisted feeling in her stomach at the fact that she’s sneaking around his apartment in his shirt with a flash drive in her hand.

It’s the job, the _damn job_ -

She makes her way down the hall, taking a moment with each door to try and find the office, careful not to make too much noise on the way. Not that she’s worried - James was knocked out, absolutely oblivious to the world in a ridiculously peaceful sleep. Natasha can only wish she knew how to sleep so well.

By the time she finds his office she’s ready to bolt, already on the balls of her feet and fidgeting when she finds the right door. The office itself is tidy, sleek and efficiently designed, nearly as big as the office James as at _work_ , and she can’t help but wonder if he sleeps more on the couch in here than he does in his own bed.

_Focus, Romanoff—_

Stepping inside on light feet, Natasha makes her way over to the computer and waits for it to wake up, tapping in a password carefully - she’s watched James with his different devices, seen the pattern in the passwords he uses, and they’re always something to do with family.

This one - the password is _Winifred B._ His mother.

Swallowing her guilt further down, Natasha plugs in the flash drive and starts copying files, hunting around through folders and spreadsheets and reports, hunting down the things her client will need, things they might need, things they probably don’t even realise would be helpful. Anything and everything she can, and then she’s got to _get out_ -

The last order of the job plays over and over in her head as she copies the files and she realises she’s supposed to take him out, get rid of him so the company has no chance of bouncing back from this sort of hit from their competitors but he’s just -

He’s so sweet, and he’s so _real_ , nothing like any of these other suits and she can’t, _how can she kill him -_

She’s got everything she needs, it’s approaching the end of the period of time she was allotted, if she doesn’t do it she won’t get paid.

But -

Shaking her head, Natasha takes the flash drive out and sets the computer back to the way it was, on her feet and heading for the door before the screen dims. She needs to get this stuff back home, send it to Isaiah, start sorting through it so she can put a real file together for the client.

Most importantly - she needs to get out of _here_ , so she can’t do him any damn harm. He doesn’t deserve it - he doesn’t deserve _any_ of this.

And Natasha hates herself for doing it. God, she hates herself for falling for the guy in the first place.

—

James has called three times, Natasha’s seen the screen on er phone flash throughout the morning. She knows why he’s calling.

She snuck out before he could even wake up. She couldn’t help it - at the end it all, Natasha couldn’t bear to stay there with him, sleeping in his bed, _by his side_ , knowing she’s - god, she’s _stealing from him_. A man she cares for, a man who’s never seemed to do anything wrong by _anyone_.

And since when did she even _care?_ When did it matter to her so much what her mark’s feel like, when they find out she’s betrayed them?

Does he even _know_ or is he just checking on her?

Shaking her head, Natasha scrolls through the files she’d taken, going through all the details, making sure it meats the brief. All of the details she has here - it’s more than enough, for what her clients are looking for. Enough secrets to take the entire company down, if they really want to do so.

A sour taste comes up in Natasha’s mouth at the thought of it, the idea that she’s having a hand in that.

Her phone buzzes again - a different number, Isaiah this time. Checking on her progress, no doubt.

Natasha ignores it, keeps scrolling. Waiting for the inevitable email. Emails, she can deal with, but - 

He’ll hear the lie in her voice. Natasha can’t have that.

—

Two days later, at James’ office door at the end of the day with an apology cupcake and a small smile, Natasha watches him look up at her and - god, his whole _face_ lights up, it’s as though he’s just been _waiting_ for her to come back, as though it’s all he cares about.

Standing there, looking at the way he smiles just at the sight of her - Natasha forgets what she is, forgets what she’s done - the files are still on her compute, she hasn’t sent them through yet, waiting - she forgets she’s meant to _kill him_ and just -

God, he’s gorgeous when he smiles -

“Hey, stranger -“

Chuckling softly, Natasha steps over and sets the small box down on his desk, on top of his papers and files so he has to stop working.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Funny story, I work here -“

Natasha smiles, more genuinely than she ever has around anyone else, and crosses her arms loosely, watching him. He looks - tired, worn down, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s taken a break since that night.

“I wasn’t - sure what happened, I thought maybe I’d messed up something -“

She watches his smile fade as he talks, lines of worry setting in around his face again and Natasha can’t help but frown herself, reaching out to cover his hand with her own.

“You - you couldn’t, okay? If anyone’s messing up - it’s me.”

It really is, and - the more he smiles at her, the worse she feels.

—

God, what is she _doing_ -

There’s a gun in her bag, waiting for her, and she knows what she has to do. It’s untraceable, she knows it is, it’s simple. James is in the shower, getting cleaned up after a sixteen-hour-day of work, and -

This should be easy, she’s _done this before -_

Her hands are shaking as she reaches for her bag, and she’s never been nervous at this point before - this is the _easy_ part, finally being free of the job, of schmoozing some guy and having to play nice while he’s got his hands all over her all the time.

James is just… so _different_ , so sweet and so _genuine_ , he’s never treated her like she’s anything less than the best, never treated her with anything but respect and honesty and all she’s done is _lied to him_ since they met.

Taking a deep breath, Natasha takes a note out of her handbag and leaves it on his nightstand before heading out of the room and making her way to the front door. She can’t - she can’t do it.

She just can’t do it.

—

“Yeah, I’m sending it to you now -“

Isaiah just kept _calling_ , wouldn’t stop really, and when she finally answered - of course, all he wanted to know was _where are the files_.

“You’re behind, you still need to take him out -“

“About that -“

Off he goes, spinning away on one of his lectures of _how are you going to keep your budget under control_ blah blah blah and Natasha tunes him out as she keeps working on the files. he’s going to send them through, the way the client wants, but - not necessarily the information they’re after.

No necessarily _accurate_ , either.

Maybe, _maybe_ she’s feeding them false information so they can crash and burn for wanting to take out such a _good hearted_ person. Maybe.

“Give me five, okay? I’ll send it all to you, relax -“

Hanging up before he can keep going on his rant, Natasha drops her phone and leans in to finish off the files. If she’s got her information right - and she usually does - this won’t let them get on top of the industry.

This is going to make them cripple their own company and be overrun by James’ company.

—

It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of hiding in the background while she watches this company crash and burn _remarkably_ quickly. They tried to use their handy insider information to take down the Barnes corporation, but - well, by the time they figured out the information wasn’t accurate, it was too late.

Natasha’s settled in her favourite corner booth in her cafe - not hers literally, but she’s here often enough she may as well buy the place and at this rate she’ll _have to_ , if she’s not taking jobs anymore, Isaiah keeps reminding her - with her third cup of coffee, scanning over the latest story in the paper about it. James obviously took the chance in front of him and took over what contracts he could, and now his company is one of the largest in the market, making it’s way quickly to the top.

She can’t help but smile, small and sad but _real_. It’s - it’s nice, to know he’s doing well, even if she can’t -

“This seat taken?”

The voice is so familiar, _too_ damn familiar and Natasha is struck with an unnerving combination of cold dread and warm relief at the sound of it. She doesn’t - god, she still hasn’t figured out what it is about James that _does that_ to her, but somehow, after two weeks, it still does.

Finally, she turns her gaze away from the paper and up to meet his eyes, and - he looks so _worn down_ , shadows under his eyes and a definite slump in his shoulders, and Natasha knows he has to have been working hard but she can’t help but worry he’s pushing himself _too hard_ and -

_Not your business, Romanoff._

Clearing her throat, Natasha nods and waves to the chair, suddenly struggling to find her voice.

“You’re not that hard to find, you know. Noticed you always picked coffee up from here, before you came to see me.”

Natasha’s just - stuck watching him settle at the table, still holding the newspaper up as she stares, _dumbfounded_. No one’s ever - tried to find her, how did she not think of that -

He’s still talking, babbling really, about work, about the companies falling around him, about how he’s been working long days and sleeping on the couch in his office - that thing is comfortable too, Natasha remembers, ridiculously soft and perfect for naps but not for _sleeping on_ , dammit James - and it’s only after a few minutes of solid staring that Natasha finally finds her voice.

“Why did you look for me?”

She doesn’t - doesn’t get it, she _told him_ what she did, why she was there, what she was _hired for_. He should never want anything to _do with her_ , how -

“Y’think I’m the CEO just because my dad died? Give me a little credit. I know you altered the files you stole, or my company would be dead and gone.”

Smart bastard -

“And I never got your real name.”

She shouldn’t do it. Natasha knows she shouldn’t. She infiltrated his life, she stole from him, strung him along and pretended -

Except she wasn’t pretending, really. For - for the first time in Natasha’s life, she wasn’t _pretending_ to care for someone. James was the exception, the first one to get under her skin. The first one to make her feel like she could just be _herself_.

She knows she shouldn’t do it. She should put her paper down, take her coffee, and go.

_But -_

“Natasha. Natasha Romanoff”

Settling back in his chair, James sets down his own coffee and gives her a smile, one she _definitely_ doesn’t deserve but has missed seeing more than she ever realised.

“So, Natasha Romanoff - let’s start over. Think that’d be okay?”

Probably not, but - Natasha can’t help it, she smiles in return and it’s - easy, unguarded, _real_. That’s when it really hits her, she’s not gonna be able to let this one go.

Maybe - maybe that’s okay, for now. Only one way to find out, right?

“Yeah - yeah, that’d be okay.”


End file.
